


dipping in

by jestbee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: "So many dips," Phil says. "You'll never use them all.""Wanna bet?"





	dipping in

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke in my group chat about Dan and his condiments and then it became... this. I was going through my wips to see what I wanted to discard over on [@jestbeeextras](http://jestbeeextras.tumblr.com) and decided I would finish this one.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely @capriciouscrab for beta'ing for me :)

This was either the height of decadence, or the absolute epitome of laziness. Marianne had rolled her eyes when they'd excused themselves from the after-show dinner with the rest of the crew with the explanation that they were going to order Chinese food to their room and watch Netflix on the spotty hotel wi-fi. 

"You're ridiculous," she'd said, but let them go anyway. She was fairly used to them by now. 

An hour later they're surrounded by foil food containers with white cardboard lids and the room is permeated by the mouth-watering smells of way too many dishes. The room is a touch too warm so they sit in their underwear, flicking through terrestrial channels, too lazy to even set up a laptop.

"What kind of hotel only has freeview?" Dan asks. 

"A cheap one," Phil shrugs, opening the lid on shredded roast duck. 

"Ugh." Dan flicks the TV off and throws the remote down on the bedside table. 

Phil busies himself opening the rest of the containers, paper-thin pancakes with spring onion and cucumber for the duck wraps, sweet and sour chicken, chicken in black bean sauce, chow mein, Chinese curry, two different kinds of rice and some spring rolls. 

"We ordered way too much food," Dan says. 

"Maybe." 

"Time for the important bit," Dan says, reaching over for a smaller plastic bag tied at the top. He tears in to one side letting small lidded pots tumble from it. "Condiments." 

"So many dips," Phil says. "You'll never use them all." 

"Wanna bet?" 

They give it a good go. They stop before they're too bloated because they want to go out tomorrow seeing as they have the day off, and eating way too much now will only set them up badly. 

Phil is busy wrapping the last of the duck in one of those sheer pancakes when Dan launches across the bed at him. 

"Who says you get the last one, Lester?" 

It's playful, but sudden, and Phil isn't expecting it. He's got the plum sauce balanced on one knee when Dan moves and the resulting collision upends the pot and sends it flying upwards, coming down to land all over his chest. 

"Shit," Phil says. 

"Oops." 

"It's my fault," Phil says, reaching across the bed for a pile of napkins. 

Dan reaches out, a large hand encircling Phil's slender wrist.

"It was my fault," he insists, "Let me." 

He's got a weird sort of glint in his eyes Phil recognises. It wasn't one he was expecting tonight but as the syrupy sauce slides down his skin he finds he kind of likes the idea. 

"Really?" he asks. 

Dan shrugs again like it's no big deal, but Phil can see the rise of his chest where his breathing has picked up, just a little bit. 

Phil pulls his wrist out of Dan's grasp and lays back. It's probably a good thing this room has two beds, but it's not a good thing they're both covered in crisp white sheets, pale and pristine, completely ruinable. 

Dan shifts the remaining food containers, stacking them and shoving them onto the floor. Except the dips, those he lines up on the bedside table just in case. So they have options. 

They haven't done this in years. Not since the first rush of Phil having his own flat with no parents and access to a fridge they could stock themselves. Back then it had been golden syrup, chocolate sauce, even the cliché carton of whipped cream. Now, it seems, it's Chinese condiments. 

When he's done, Dan turns back and leans in, no hesitation at all as he chases a drip of plum sauce dripping down over Phil's ribs with his tongue. He follows it up over the rise of Phil's side, curling once he reaches the flat plane of his chest. 

"Mm," he hums, "tasty." 

"The sauce? Or me?" 

"Yes," Dan laughs. 

Dan crawls closer on all fours, inelegant and not really trying to do it with any finesse because it's just them, the same lanky idiots they've always been, so there's no need to stand on ceremony now. 

He dips his head again, lapping at the final swipe of sauce, up over a nipple that he pauses at to flick the end of his tongue over. It's not a particularly sensitive area, but the situation, the idea of doing something a bit weird and a bit exciting with Dan pulls a small moan from Phil anyway. 

"Think you got it all," Phil breathes. 

"Really?" 

Dan's voice is a mere rumble that Phil can feel in his skin. He watches Dan reach out one long arm to the line of cartons on the table and select one from the line. He shifts, his legs swinging either side of Phil's hip, his round tight ass coming down directly on Phil's aching cock. He shimmys a little, and Phil moans at the friction through two pairs of boxers. Fuck. 

Dan flicks the lid off the pot with a fingernail and sends it flying off the side of the bed to places unknown. He dips his finger in what appears to be sweet and sour and holds it up so Phil can see. 

It's thick and orange and Dan lets it drip down his finger, just to the first knuckle, before he parts his lips. His tongue comes out first, lapping at his own skin before sucking the digit in to his mouth. His cheeks hollow and Phil knows he's supposed to think about that mouth on his dick, about the curl of Dan's tongue and the tight warm heat of the inside of his lips. It's working. 

Phil lets his hips tip up just a little, seeking out the press of Dan's ass against him where he's hard and neglected. 

Dan smirks, pulling his finger from his mouth with a slight pop. He tips the pot, letting the sauce pour over the side in a thin string. It pools in Phil's collarbone, spilling up and over. A drop rolls down his shoulder, another up the curved plane of his neck. 

Dan dips down again to lap at him, humming all the while at the taste. As he makes his way up, his teeth graze the skin under Phil's ear and Phil can hear the soft hum of appreciation rumbling in Dan's throat. 

"Want some?" Dan says, hot and low. 

Phil pushes, hands flat on Dan's chest, urging him up. He take the pot from Dan's hand and shimmies out from under him. 

He holds the pot in trembling fingers as Dan eyes him hungrily, Phil's flicking from pot to Phil's exposed flesh as if he's ravenous for both. 

Phil smiles. He hooks his finger into his boxers and tugs them down, his hard, flushed cock bobs against his stomach and he feels a wave of want rumble through him. 

Dan is barely an arms length away but when he's like this, dizzy and distracted with it, he wants him closer, closer, always closer. 

"Come here," Phil says, and he's surprised at how croaky and gruff his voice is already. Articulation is lost in the haze of Dan and the way they take these things and make them their own. 

As Dan crawls back over to him, Phil up-ends the pot so that sauce drips down over his throbbing cock. It's a touch too cold and it makes him flinch but Dan's mouth is soon there, sudden and hot and wet and Phil discards the pot, probably leaking whatever remained in it all over the floor, and cries out. 

"Fuck," he says, "god Dan, your mouth."

He's perfected this. Phil remembers year ago when his technique was eager but sloppy and uncoordinated, his own much the same if not with a little bit more experience to rely on. 

Now, Dan has learned the tune of Phil's body and plays him just was easy as he does all those songs he learns on the piano. He never follows the rules, but instead picks out the melody of Phil's pleasure by ear and sheer dedication to the practise. 

Dan's tongue darts all over him, sauce long gone but still diligent in it, lapping at him, taking him fully into the back of his throat and swallowing, sucking him down like he can't get enough. 

It starts with the sauce, the cream or yogurt or whatever it is they're using at the time, but it always ends up this way. Just them, skin on skin, the taste of each other the one they savour over all others. 

Dan will always be his favourite flavour.

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft press of Dan's fingers on his balls. He strokes, squeezes, and Phil lets his legs spread for him, baring himself to whatever ministrations Dan has in mind. 

His fingers press back a little more. 

"Yeah?" Dan says, sliding his mouth free.

Phil can't find words, not when the blunt tips of Dan's fingers are already circling his rim. He nods, eyes looking at Dan and then down at his eager cock, dribbling pre-cum onto his abdomen. 

Dan reaches over to the bedside table again, hand reaching past the condiments this time to the bottle they always put there when they unpack, just in case the chance arises when they aren't too tired from tour to use it.

He gasps again when the cool gel hits his skin. It's different from the sauce, but it's so familiar a sensation, and he's so aware of what comes next, that it gives him a little thrill anyway. 

Dan is gentle, sliding his fingers into him slowly. One at a time, Phil gasping and thrusting down on to them as soon as he's able. It drives him mad, the need for preparation, when he's on the edge and fit to bust just from the sight of Dan, mostly naked, hovering over him, he can't bear to have to wait. He wants him now, inside him, surrounding him, no space between them at all. 

He isn't too proud to beg. 

"Please," he says, his voice a whimper that makes Dan grin and ease his fingers out even more slowly than he'd put them in. 

"Come on," Dan says, arranging himself, back to the headboard.

He's taken his boxers off so Phil can see the thing he wants most. Flushed almost purple and shiny with the evidence of how much Dan wants this too. Neglected, desperate, both of them breathing heavily as Phil crawls over him. 

When Dan pushes up into him, Phil bearing his weight down, rocking into it, Dan's breath hisses between his teeth and his eyelids flutter over deep brown irises. 

"Shit," he says, "you always feel so fucking good."

Phil agrees. Dan feels good too, all hard and ready inside him, touching him in all the secret places he yearns to be touched. He likes to feel stretched around him, like everything is so tight and hot and taut that there is no space for anything else. Nothing but Dan, always Dan. 

He moves his hips and Dan groans. He's at the point Phil loves already. When he drops his head back, pushes fingers in to Phil's hip and can do nothing else but hold on for the ride. 

Phil obliges. 

He rolls his hips, feeling the shift of Dan inside him, catching on his sensitive rim, tugging deliciously as he lifts himself up and then drops back down. 

The noise of their joint moans, pornographic in nature, fills the air of their otherwise empty hotel room.

Phil might spare a thought for anyone that could be on the other side of the wall, if he had any capacity at all in his brain that wasn't taken up with _Dan Dan Dan_.

He lets that be it for a few minutes, adjusting to the sensation, revelling in how gone Dan already is. 

But he still wants to finish what they started. 

He reaches out, grabbing a container at random because the taste of it isn't really the point. Dan watches him, encouraging him with a blink of his eyes, the tip of his chin.

"Yeah," Dan whispers, and Phil doesn't think he intended to say it at all. 

Dan's hips have started moving, still pushing up into him, fingers flexing to bring Phil down onto his cock over and over. 

Phil's fingers fumble with the lid. He lacks the elegant finesse of Dan's movements in moment like this, his whole body tight like a harp string, ready to be plucked. 

Sat above Dan, he pours the sticky liquid on to his collarbone. It wells up, spilling over and dripping in thick viscous stripes down Dan's chest, over small brown nipples and the soft swell of his lower stomach. 

When he's done with one he moves on to the next, over and over until all the different variations are mingled on Dan's skin and the empty pots strewn about the floor and bed.

Phil feels it seep into the space where his thighs are touching Dan's hips, finding a path beneath Phil's legs to drip into as Phil's hips move up and down while Dan's thrusts continue. 

It slides between them, and Dan reaches up to pull Phil closer, presses their chests together with the slickness caught on their skin. 

Phil shivers at the feel of it. 

It's everywhere. The sheets aren't salvageable but Phil can't bring himself to care. There is an entire bed across the way they can sleep in, and a shower cubicle in the bathroom where they wash it away once it's done. 

But for now, the mess is here, spread between them, coating both their chests, sticky and slick. 

Dan picks up his pace, Phil lets himself lift and drop in opposition, bringing them together over and over but in such a way that the wet lubrication between them is apparent. The heat of their bodies turning the consistency runny.

Dan's fingers grip at his hips, thumbs dipping in to feel where it has spread there too. Everything feels wet and warm and ruined, Phil is building towards something explosive, giving himself up to how decadent and dirty this all feels. 

He drops his head, lips and tongue finding the taste of the sauce on Dan's skin and he mouths at it. Dan's movements are erratic and Phil knows he's close.

He is too.

Phil puts his arms around Dan's shoulders, mouth stuck on the hard jut of his collarbone, nails digging into the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. 

Dan cries out first, body rigid and pushing up into him deeply as he comes. Phil rides it out, moving his hips so that Dan doesn't have to, and then for just a little bit after Dan is finished. He likes to watch Dan wince with oversensitivity. 

"Stay in," he says as Dan shifts. 

Dan grunts in agreement and reaches to wrap his brand palm around the expanse of Phil's cock. 

It doesn't take long. Dan's hand is just as practised as his mouth and he strokes in just the right way so that, combined with Dan still inside him, and the knowledge that he is as filthy and sticky on the inside as he is on the outside, he comes hot and fast between them in a matter of minutes.

It adds to the mess, pulsing out to coat both his own and Dan's chest, mixing with the sauce that's still dripping between them.

Afterwards, Phil slumps forward, burying his face into Dan's neck where there is still the lingering taste of Chinese condiments and the salt of Dan's sweat.

"Shower," Dan says after a little while. 

Phil groans. It's always like this afterwards, messy and gross but too wrung out to move. Dan eases him up, ushering him onwards when he gives a tentative guilty look at the mess of the bedsheets, streaked with the remnants of their eager activities. 

In the shower he washes everything away with gentle hands and then folds him in to the other bed amid clean, fresh sheets. 

The rest they'll clean up tomorrow, for tonight they're satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://jestbee.tumblr.com)


End file.
